


The Coward & the Cas

by misha_collins_butt



Series: I Knew I Loved You [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt!Cas, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Old Fic, Old Work, The Talk, angel!cas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 22:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20235631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_collins_butt/pseuds/misha_collins_butt
Summary: When Cas is injured by another angel, it opens up an unexpected route of conversation between he and Sam about Dean's hesitations. First kiss one shot.





	The Coward & the Cas

Dean speeds down the barren stretch of road, hands pounding the steering wheel along with some bass-y song. He headbangs at the part where the guitar slams in and momentarily takes his hands off the wheel to play air drums, and when he looks back up from his escapade, he curses loudly and slams on the brakes.

The Impala skids to a stop, kicking up dirt and smoke behind her, and when the dust clears, Dean gets a shock at what he sees.

Castiel stands in the road, slumped and breathing hard, appearing as though he's just exerted himself to the brink of even angelic physicality.

Dean shoves the door open and stands, hanging onto the top of Baby, watching Cas cautiously.

"Cas?"

"Dea..." Cas doesn't even get the single word out before his eyes roll back and he's collapsing in the middle of the pavement.

"Shit. Cas!" Dean sprints to him and skitters to a stop on his knees beside the angel, examining for injuries. "Goddamnit, Cas," he grumbles. "Let's get you home, huh?"

Dean lifts the angel into his arms, making sure his head doesn't fall backward, but instead rests gently against his chest.

Cas mumbles incoherently, but Dean just lays him out across the front seat, then scoots into the driver's side and replaces Cas's head on his lap.

He does 110 until he reaches the bunker entrance and makes a NASCAR worthy turn into the driveway. Doesn't even fret to lock her up after rushing to turn her off and hip-bump the door closed. He carries Cas to the front door and kicks it open, not bothering to close it behind him.

Sam looks up, shocked, from his tomes spread across the tables, raised brows knitting low and back straightening when he sees Cas konked out in Dean's arms and probably the alarmed look on Dean's face.

"What happened," Sam demands, dropping his books and rushing to Dean's side. 

"He passed out."

"What?! What's wrong?"

"I don't know, Sam! You think if I knew I'd be freaking the fuck out right now? Go grab some warm towels, find some pain meds. He hit his head on the pavement when his lights went off; he's gonna be in a world o' pain when he wakes up." 

_If he wakes up_.

Dean does not entertain that thought.

Sam sighs but mutters, "On it." and speeds away to the nearest pantry closet.

Dean drops Cas gingerly onto his bed, and tugs off his trenchcoat, his blazer, work shirt, makes sure there's no superficial damage. 

Cas sometimes used to walk around the bunker without a shirt on and Dean would pretend he definitely was _not _checking out his chest and those damn arms. But now he doesn't even consider looking at him like that. He might be a sex maniac but he's not about to take advantage of his best friend.

He finds not even a cat scratch or small bruise and grits his teeth. 

"Find anything?" Sam strides in with three wet, steaming towels and a cup of meds, which he sets on the nightstand, and lays a towel out across Cas's forehead. When Dean doesn't speak he looks up and raises his brows. "Dean."

"N-No, no, there's nothing," Dean sighs, leaning on the bed, balanced by his fists on the edge, arms locked.

"He's freezing," Sam shakes his head. "This isn't an infected wound, Dean. It's not something we can fix with penicillin and a hot shower. We have to take him--"

"We are not putting him in a hospital."

"We don't have to leave him there." Dean can feel Sam watching him, but he fixes his eyes on Cas's lax face, the lips that are separated, eyelids that don't open. Flexes his jaw. "Dean," Sam whispers. "He needs real medical attention--"

"What if they cut him open, Sam?" Dean snaps, snarling at his brother. "Huh? What then? What if they have to take a CAT Scan or need medical history? How do you expect us to explain his glowing guts or why they can't see his brain past the grace in his bloodstream?" He stands and paces away from the bed, toward the wall, hands in his hair. "There's not gonna be a single doctor or scientist that won't want to do some kind of extensive study. Dissect him. Try and figure out why this guy, who they think is human, isn't acting like a human."

"It's not our decision anyway," Sam says softly. The floor boards creak and Dean whirls around to look his brother in the eye.

"He's not awake to _make_ a decis--"

"Dean?" Cas croaks, head shifting almost imperceptibly.

They both freeze in shock before Dean rushes to Castiel's side and kneels on the floor. He pushes the sweat damp hair gently out of Cas's eyes and tilts his head.

"Hey, buddy," he mumbles, surveying Cas's faint eyes. "Hey, are you okay?"

Cas begins to cough and it doesn't sound like the good, lung clearing kind.

He swallows sorely and licks his lips. Takes a deep breath in.

"Did I pass out?"

"Yeah. Yeah, ya did. You're home now. Do you know what's going on?" Dean asks quietly, petting Cas's hair.

"I think-" cough "-that there's something wrong with my grace. I was...walking out on a beach...in Florida and another angel cut my leg with an angel blade..." his head lolls to the side and Dean grabs his face.

"Cas? Cas, ya gotta stay with me, buddy."

"I...healed it...most of the way but I lost a lot of blood. I think it's still open. And...and I think he put something on the blade that interferes with my Grace. I don't know how that's possible...but...I can't think of anything else..."

Dean exhales and slowly looks to his brother, brows raised pointedly.

"_That's_ not something a hospital can diagnose."

Sam purses his lips inward and drops his gaze to the floor.

"Okay. Okay, we're gonna get you better, Cas," Dean murmurs, stroking his angel's cheek. "I promise."

\--

"This might sting a little," Sam warns before he brings down the alcohol soaked towel to Castiel's shin.

He flinches away from it, white-knuckling the toilet seat, screwing his eyes shut.

"Sorry."

"Don't be," Castiel breathes, slumping into the back of the toilet. "I can't do anything more for it anyway. My Grace is...well, fucked, as you might say."

Sam chuckles, dabbing the wound.

"Yeah, that's definitely something we would say."

A long silence flits about the room, light as a butterfly, but Castiel feels the weight of this situation in his gut, pulling him down into a depth of indefinite unknowns.

"I've never heard of something that would do this to grace. Angels are one of the few beings in the supernatural realm that are not susceptible to poisons and human ailments. This body hasn't had a single cold or flu since I inhabited it, save for the months I was a human," Castiel heaves a sigh, sending himself into a fit of coughs. Sam pauses and waits for him to stop shaking.

"Well, with all due respect to your natural state of immunity, Cas, I doubt that excludes you from mutated poisons created by other celestial beings," Sam smiles apologetically and finishes cleaning the cut. "You okay with stitches or should I let it be?"

"What's your professional opinion?"

Sam's smile turns benevolent, throwing the towel down in the bath tub.

"My opinion from experience is that it's a very wide cut and it'll be infected more easily if it's left open. My personal opinion is that you're a grown angel and you can do what you damn well please," Sam replies and Castiel watches him digging through the first aid kit and replacing the medical grade alcohol in its proper place.

"Stitches are fine. I'm in no condition to fight off an infection."

"It's possible you could just not get one," Sam shrugs, pulling out a spool of thread and a curved needle, packaged in sterile paper. "Who knows. Maybe your Grace just needs a challenge. You haven't really been working it out lately."

Castiel laughs at this, weakly, chest rattling in protest.

"I hardly think grace is something that needs to be exercised," he responds and then promptly falls into another coughing fit. "It's similar to humans...riding a bike. Once you know how to do it, unless you receive major brain damage, you don't lose the ability, and you don't think much about how it works. You just...hop on and go."

"I don't know," Sam jokes, voice pitching higher. "I think I once knew a girl who rode a bike when she was 7, then didn't for 10 years and couldn't do it anymore."

"Doubtful," Castiel smiles faintly, thankful for the attempt to lighten the mood. "Where's Dean?"

Sam's eyebrows climb to his hairline and he scoffs lowly.

"For once? Researching," he sanitises everything, though Castiel is dubious that any of it needs any more sanitising than it's already had. "He's really worried about you, you know. I think he's scared of losing you again."

"Losing me?" Castiel asks, watching the younger Winchester poke into his leg. It twitches unconsciously at the dull pain.

Sam gets uncomfortably, solemnly quiet. Concentrates on pushing the needle through damaged tissue. And when Castiel doesn't push it, Sam stops, breath slow, and switches his eyes to meet Castiel's. 

"I think...that when Dean realised you meant it when you said you would always be there for him, he formed this kind of...idea in his head. He never had friends when he was a kid. He was always too busy taking care of me. He didn't allow himself to be taken care of. He didn't let himself fall in love," Sam shakes his head. Continues pulling the edges of Castiel's skin together. Needle and thread. Slow breath. Gears turning. "When you came along, he hated you. He knew you'd been watching him. He knew you'd saved him. He was angry that he couldn't save himself. But then...he realised there was finally someone who cared enough to make sure he was safe. There was finally someone who would do anything to keep him from drowning again. 

"That was you. You give him this sense of freedom he's never let himself have. He feels like he's been unlocked from, like, these chains of responsibility. He still worries about me. Still makes every effort to keep me alive. Sacrifices himself for me, but...but I think it's more reckless now because he knows when he dies...you'll be right there to save him again. But I think he also has this connection with you that he won't admit to himself. He's still scared to let himself love you because...because that means it's more than keeping you around to take care of him. Means he's in love with you and with how often you go off by yourself and go days on end without checking in and...you're an angel. You're at a higher risk for dying because some other angel somewhere decides it's time for another war, just because they hate you for whatever reason. 

"You're passive about hatred. You _let _people hate you, even if that means you might die for it." Sam ties off the last stitch and replaces everything but the needle in the kit. Castiel lets his leg fall from Sam's lap to the floor with a grunt and sits up on the toilet, eyes not leaving Sam's face. Waiting. "He's scared of that. He's scared because he thinks if he lets himself finally love someone for once, it'll be torn away from him, over and over again. 

"And eventually, he'll lose you and he won't get you back. For him, it's more than just romantic walks on the beach, Cas. When he loves someone, he loves them with every fibre of his body and soul because it could end at any moment. He's intense. And I think he's scared to scare you with that because he thinks it'll drive you away. Because you saved him. And you'll keep saving him. And he's scared. And all these things I can't even explain with words and without repeating myself, because it's more than a human mind can conceive of. And I think he's scared of that too."

"Dean...loves me?" Castiel mumbles slowly, all the air leaving his lungs in one big old punch to the gut. "Why wouldn't he--"

"Because..." Sam cuts him off. Slides the tin back under the sink and stands to leave. "He's a coward." Sam shuffles through the door and calls back across the threshold after a moment, "Least when it comes to you."

Castiel is left alone to the crushing feeling of the cold, sterile white walls of the bathroom and the sudden realisation that he's more than just a martyr to someone.

He is hallowed.

\--

Dean notices it as Cas heals. 

The poison was a rare species of dragon venom, mixed with a diluted dead man's blood solution. Who knew the thing that disables vampyres, mixed with the right stuff, could cause a chemical reaction with angel grace that fucks up their host's system?

Dean discovered the simple cure was to drink water and sweat it out, which was rather difficult for Cas considering even standing at first got him out of breath. But even through the veiled resilience in Cas's eyes as he would climb wearily onto the treadmill, Dean noticed it.

It was faint, and he wasn't sure it was even really there at first, but now, as Cas sits across from him, shoving down a pile of flapjacks and a plate of bacon, he sees it again. That little twinkle in his eye, almost unnoticeable to any other human's dim periphery. But Dean knows Cas. He's loved him, and he's longed for those eyes to never leave his face and for those lips to touch his in a moment of silent confidence. He knows Cas, and he knows that's not the usual twinkle in his eye, the one that says he's happy to be back or grateful that he's been rescued. Again.

No, this one is different. This one _says_ something different. He just...can't put his finger on it.

But he notices other little things too. Like the way Sam's knowing and pointed smiles are no longer hidden from Cas's view, and the way Cas sits beside Dean in the impala when it's just the two of them - more relaxed, hand smoothing over the leather seat in distant thought, no longer blanching at the rock music Dean sometimes makes incessant just to annoy Cas. He notices the way Cas looks at him more closely, examining his facial structure, unafraid to stare longer than necessary. He notices the way Cas is more responsive when Dean tugs at his sleeve to see if everything is okay, and when Dean pulls him into a hug, the way Cas's head rests more closely to his neck, face turned into his skin, breath heavy.

Then one day, he cracks; grabs Cas by the collar as they stand beside the impala, getting gas and picking up some basic groceries - eggs, fruit, crackers, beer, nothing too significant, but for Dean, he knows the memory will be planted in his feeble human mind just as long as it will be in Cas's. He grabs that stupid collar and pushes Cas hard into the car, not scowling or angered or anything of the sort, just trying to get a good look at this new twinkle in his eye, trying to figure out why the hell it looks less like the stars and so much more like a reflection of the soul Dean watched get pulled out of him in hell, when they were torturing him. He saw his own soul. It was blinding and magnificent and horrifying and life affirming. And now he sees it again in Cas's eyes and he wants to know why. How it got there, why Cas never reflected it before.

"This isn't the poison. Or else it would have changed a billion other aspects of you. So what the hell did Sam say to you," Dean whispers, not meaning for it to spit like venom and immediately backing off a bit, loosening his grip on Cas's shirt, putting some distance between their faces. Cas looks mortified, so Dean lets himself soften. "What did he say...about me."

"I don't--"

"You know. Something. I know you do, Cas. I see it in your eyes. The way you look at me now," Dean shakes his head cautiously, realisation dawning, not for the first time. "It's different than before. You're more open. Loose. Like...like you're more comfortable around me or something." Dean shifts forward absently and their faces are close again, and Dean feels his breaths puffing back at him off of Cas' cheeks, eyes switching between Cas' eyes and lips. "What did he say? What happened?"

"He said you're a coward," Cas blurts, voice trembling, somehow blanketed beneath a sheath of dauntlessness as his hands fly to Dean's head, fingers at the base of his skull and pushing back through his hair. "Said you would never admit that you love me because you're scared. Scared to lose me again. Scared of the way I'm so self sufficient because you have this mothering complex that makes you want to protect people, Dean. But...you also need to be taken care of. And you're afraid to lose both of those things, and I'm the first person you've felt both about..." Cas inches forward, lips hanging against Dean's, quivering in the limelight of a lie long lived and now relieved of its necessity, freed to the glory of the depthless pit of unkept promises, teeth chattering at the cold winds of release, like the breath that's hot against Dean's mouth, warming the soul he sees in the eyes the breath comes from. "Do you love me, Dean? Enough to trust that I will..._never_ let you lose me again? That I will never let you drown?"

Dean's words shiver at the edges of his lips, just for a moment, like a tear that's escaped its confines and ventured to the very ends of its short life span, like the sunset at its vibrant finale, gripping the sky for one last second before the night engulfs the trees and the stars once again resemble the freckles smattered across Dean's nose and cheeks.

And then he lets them fall into the space between them, once empty and now filled with the presence of an undeniable truth.

"Yes. I do."

And their lips slide softly together, a desperate, calm attempt to speak the words left unspoken through actions Dean now realises are more meaningful than even his physical existence. He was a tear in the continuum of the universe and Castiel will be the needle to skim his edges but refuse to sew him back together, insistent upon the beauty of the flaw.

And the heavens open to him, the infinite heavens that remain inside of Cas because he is stubborn and sensitive and passionate and he refuses to let go. Of the place he was created and of Dean's jacket collar, hand tightening in the pliable leather.

"Cas..." Dean pets his hand down the back of Cas's head, barely getting the word out.

"Hm," he hums, kissing Dean for lingering moment.

"I need to get the pump out of the tank," Dean smiles, probably for the first time in months. And Cas bites his lower lip and meets Dean's eyes with a fierce resistance. "We can do all the cuddling and kissing you want when we get home. 'Kay?"

Cas nods and releases him, reluctant.

"Just one thing I want to know," Dean says, unhooking the gas pump. Cas looks to him expectantly. Dean reaches out and takes his hand gingerly, another smile creeping into his lips. "How long has Sam known?"


End file.
